Beautifully Healed

Thoughts trip over each other in my head. Not in a clamoring way, more as if none wants to speak first out of deference for the other. I would be lying if I said I’d never had a problem organizing my thoughts before.

But…this is different.

Before there was a story, but fear and unrest were standing guard.                                                                        Protecting  the distrusting and alone, who beckoned from some half lit place, for a sister to bring her solace. She had thoughts that could not be safely spoken.                                                                                                                        She just wanted freedom!                                                                                                                                                     But…betrayal was inevitable.                                                                                                                                                                     Of that she was certain.

Someone once told me about myself in my favorite language…imagery.

It went something like this..

There is a garden, green, but struggling for light because of the brick wall surrounding it. The wall is very high, white, and well-kept. There is a single brick low and central.

It is red.

The garden is lovely, but I see that it’s on the inside of the wall and can only be enjoyed by the gardener. The wall will stand, blocking all of the beauty, unless the red brick is removed.

At the time I politely thanked them for their lovely imagery and noted that the sixties must have been REALLY good to them.

A story begins to unfold…

This past weekend Jesus led a sister up to that wall.

The sister was not scared and used her sweet warrior-princess-ninja skills to punch out the red brick. The wall turned to dust.

The one who called her self “Distrusting and Alone”

stepped out into the fullness of the sun

and was given a name tag to wear, since nobody had ever been introduced to her.

She was given other names too because she is far too spectacular to have just one.

There is the one about twirling, the one about music, and her favorite one about being shiny!

But those names are for other chapters in her story.


Have you ever really given everything for the sake of love?  I have declared that I would. I have thought that I had.

I have not.

I’m not making a parallel to the sacrifice of Christ. I’m talking about the relationship between two people who choose a life together. I’m being real.


In essence of course it’s the same thing, the willingness to lay down our lives one for the other. Why must we make it so incredibly difficult?

We meet, we learn, we sense, we gain depth. We feel a lightness that carries us to new heights. Then sometimes, far too many times, we forget why or how we began. We relax our grip while walking in the pace of the familiar only to lose each others’ hands in the crowd. Complacency comes in and whisks our fervor away like a bad man snatching a child from the county fair. And like that family frantically plastering fliers and giving tearful pleas on the news, we hope against hope that we’ll see our precious baby again. If that were really the way we viewed love, we would not give up until we had that baby back in our arms one way or another.

We should remember that love is the antithesis of fear. They cannot coexist. Yet we fear one another. We fear what the other may choose. In doing so we have no freedom. We either grasp tighter until love can’t stand the crushing of it’s bones, or we stick our hands in our pockets so we can’t be blamed for it’s slipping away since we never really held it to begin with. Either way, we lose.

Love is a living, ever growing thing. Love needs times of being held and soothed like a baby, being able to stretch like a growing adolescent, being shown off in an expensive outfit at the big soiree, of staying up all night finishing the remodel, of rocking in the sunset on the front porch.

Love never ought to be disregarded or discarded.

We can feel like we’ve done all we can, that we’ve endured all we can possibly stand. While love is more than a feeling to be evoked, it seems to me that it’s still the pulsing vitality present within that feeling that sustains most of us at some level. We can say that we don’t need it or want the hassle of all that it entails but my observations say otherwise for the majority.

While my hope is not in any earthly relationship, but in intimacy with Christ, I will not lie and say that it’s irrelevant to me. I don’t know how, but I am going to guard love. I am going to give, even when I don’t understand why it’s so tough. I am going to let go of my offenses, cherish what is and rest in God’s peace while I wait for what is yet to be restored.

I encourage you to do the same.

1 Corinthians 13, The Message…

The Way of Love

1 If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate. 2If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing. 3-7If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.

Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.

8-10Love never dies. Inspired speech will be over some day; praying in tongues will end; understanding will reach its limit. We know only a portion of the truth, and what we say about God is always incomplete. But when the Complete arrives, our incompletes will be canceled.

In the immortal words of David Lee Roth…..”Might as well jump.” ;)

Obedience. It’s not easy. For me it’s this. Literally “this”. Writing. I feel the fire of  it in my bones. I am awakened in the night by a cacophony of pains and realizations, sorrows and angry questions just screaming to be spelled out. Even then, I can stare off in space deluding myself that I have nothing to say. I prefer the safety of happy days and the joy of triumphant moments to pilot my musings. So I have many days void of posts, many empty journal pages, many years of disobedience. I could say that this is a new revelation and go on with some poignantly repentant, scripture laced prose on the subject. It’s not new information to me though. Why is it so hard? Why do I petrify at the thought of being vulnerable? Mind you, if you asked around, my circle of acquaintances would likely tell you that I’m very open and “out there” with my life’s goings on. They are grossly mistaken. I guard well the depths of me. I have mastered the art of interesting nothingness.  After all, what is the point? Does anybody give two cents about my perspective or possible revelation on any subject? Who cares and why should they? Even if I were to say something that resonated with someone’s heart right at that precise moment they would most likely forget all about it within minutes, or at best hours. So why on earth would anyone, in their right mind, write out of pain, fear, sorrow, frustration? I have clearly looked at this from every angle. What it comes down to is this,not everyone would or should do such a thing. Many have done it and done it well. I have been changed by their words. So I suspect that maybe God would just like me to obey. Maybe He has something to say that only I can say in a way that the one person who needs to hear it will identify with. Maybe their life will be bettered by its having been written. Maybe I’m nuts. The one thing I’m certain of is that I feel that my life may depend on it. I have a story to tell. So with a deep breath…I’m jumping off of this cliff.